The Kind of Human Wreckage That You Love
by The Lady More
Summary: A brief look into the twisted mind of Acastus Kolya.


_**The following piece was for a contest on Mibba . I was prompted with the word sanquinolency, which means addiction to bloodshed. Of course…my first thought immediately turns to….Kolya. So here it is my twisted little fic. The Lyrics are from My Chemical Romance's Blood.**_

_**Warnings:**__** This is KOLYA'S mind so it's a little twisted**_

_**Spoilers:**__** Common Ground**_

_**Disclaimer:**__** I do not own any of the characters in the Stargate Franchise. However I do own Dolan =D. **_

The Kind Of Human Wreckage That You Love

_Well they encourage your complete cooperation,  
><em>_Send you roses when they think you need to smile.  
><em>_I can't control myself because I don't know how,  
><em>_And they love me for it honestly, I'll be here for a while._

"Very well," He growls as he turns his head in anticipation for the torture that was to come. He watches with glee as his victim stares in horror as the wraith's hand aligns with his chest. And he begins to drink the sight in.

They think Acastus Kolya's cruelty springs from a desire to get what he wants at the expense of others. It is part of it, but just a fraction. He is fascinated by the sight of seeing others suffer. He loved the way their faces twisted in horror, the sounds of their screams and most of all the blood. The way it flowed, the way it stained even the purest of objects. It was just, beautiful.

_So give them blood, blood, gallons of the stuff!  
><em>_Give them all that they can drink and it will never be enough.  
><em>_So give them blood, blood, blood.  
><em>_Grab a glass because there's going to be a flood!_

As his enemy's pained scream muffled by a white gag, echoes off the wall, he remembers first time he made someone bleed, he was just a child. He was in the schoolyard with other young males of the Genii race, dressed in their tacky farmer disguises. When he was younger he had a bit of a limp due to a genetic disease that ran amongst the men of his family. At only eight while he already had a charming demeanor, he also seemed to have a dark sinister aura to him. No one dared to anger him.

Some spoiled boy Dolan his name was, who envied him for his charisma and popularity, dared to call him "peg legged Acastus". That fool had made a mistake. Young Acastus responded viciously by launching onto his helpless victim. Dolan lied there and took kick after kick, punch after punch. The school boys surrounding scene stood astonished at the sight of someone as small as their classmate inflict such damage.

The Young Acastus did not know how much time passed before the adults came and ripped him off prey. He didn't scream nor did he struggle. He just stared down at his victim. His face was swollen and splattered with dirt and bruises. He was wheezing and struggling to breathe. But those details didn't seem rouse the future Genii commander. It was the blood that flowed from the open cuts he created, and from his victim's nose and of his mouth as he choked.

A smile formed across his face. What a beautiful masterpiece he created! The sight of blood tainting the white skin. That sadistic smirk did not fade, not even when the teachers used the rod to punish him. Blood and torture became his drug, his moonshine; he needed it to feel _**alive**_.

_A celebrated man amongst the gurneys.  
><em>_They can fix me proper with a bit of luck.  
><em>_The doctors and the nurses they adore me so,  
><em>_But it's really quite alarming 'cause I'm such an awful fuck. (Oh thank you!)_

He is obviously much older now and more powerful than the little weakling of a boy he was. Through the years of his rise, he always found crafty ways of making someone bleed whether by beating them mercilessly during a leisured round of sparing or shooting holes in their bodies with his pistol. But his tool of the trade is his knife.

He loves the sensation of dragging a blade across the victim's skin. It is smooth and often makes a clean cut. The blood flows in a straight line like a river.

As he looks up at John Sheppard, who like Dolan was a fool to cross him, seeing the perfect opportunity for his guards to stop the creature from sucking anymore life out of him, his fingers fiddle on the knife on the pocket. He signals for his men to tear the wraith away from Sheppard and begins to study him for a moment.

There is shock and pain in the other man's eyes as he heaves deeply through his nose. He noticeably aged a bit. Kolya knows that by the specks of gray in the Colonel's once dark hair and the wrinkles forming on his once youthful face. He got what he wanted. He watched his enemy suffer, but it didn't seem….enough.

His eyes gaze down on the Colonel's chest where a wound had just formed. It looked like just a minor scrape with little blood. Not that much damage. That wouldn't do. He needs more. He needs the blood to drip and flow for his newest macabre creation to be a masterpiece. And the ability to mold such carnage was a talent of his.

But he had to wait. After he finished his broadcast he would do would finish his masterpiece.

"We've found that a minimum of three hours between feeding sessions is crucial to ensure the body has sufficient time to recover from the trauma," He says almost rushing through his words in excitement, "That's the time you have to decide. Three hours."

_I gave you blood, blood, gallons of the stuff,  
><em>_I gave you all that you can drink and it has never been enough.  
><em>_I gave you blood, blood, blood,  
><em>_I'm the kind of human wreckage that you love! _

When the guards go to release his captor, Kolya raises his hand. The guards step to the side as Sheppard summons the strength to lift his head. It's there again, the fear and terror. He likes….no…he LOVES it.

"What are you doing?" Sheppard mumbles beneath the gag.

Kolya laughs and roughly grabs Sheppard's arm. And as he lifts the knife to the view of his captive's shocked eyes, he says:

"We're going to have a little fun."

_**Hope you enjoyed…reviews=cookies. **_


End file.
